


vixx 'three sentence' ficathon fills

by enriant (enpleurs)



Category: VIXX
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enpleurs/pseuds/enriant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'drabble' dump from the vixx ficathon! none of them are drabbles. maybe one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. leolay things

**leolay stolen kisses - cute ver**

Yixing’s in a good mood today—he looks exhausted, his skin looks like shit, he doesn’t look like he’s slept in days but what else is comeback for—but he’s in a good mood, and Taekwoon blesses EXO’s managers for bringing an extra latte for him, when they’d seen him hanging out in their dressing room.

"Did—" Taekwoon starts to say, but he promptly forgets because Yixing’s leaned in closer, and closer, and then his lips are soft against Taekwoon’s and his tongue flicks out lightly against his and Taekwoon’s eyes open wide, frozen, as Yixing leans away, a self satisfied expression looking very much like a cat who’d gotten the cream, tongue licking his lips included.

"You had milk there," Yixing explains cheerfully, and yes, Taekwoon thinks, his ears turning hot, bless EXO’s managers (now if only they could get him a nice, quiet room and five minutes alone now that they were both in the same country, but he couldn’t get too greedy, could he), and Taekwoon quickly leans over before anyone can walk in, and steals his own kiss.

"You got some of it on you," Taekwoon mumbles, and Yixing's eyes curl as he giggles and if the door hadn't opened just then, Taekwoon would've kissed his dimple too.

 

  

* * *

 

  

**leolay stolen kisses - mafia au ver**

There’s still blood on his hands, the stench of iron filling the air, but Taekwoon doesn’t care, pulling the other man into a hidden alcove, dark, small. His heart is pounding, and he shouldn’t be here, not at all, but he thanks all the gods he doesn’t believe in, that he had.

"Leo—"

"You could’ve died," Taekwoon says, his voice low.

Yixing shakes off Taekwoon’s grip, and his eyes flash in the darkness. "Then I would’ve died," he says, and his voice is as hard as his eyes. "I told you not to get involved."

"I can’t stand back and watch you die," Taekwoon hisses.

Yixing, unexpectedly chuckles. "You do realise we’re enemies, right?" he says.

"That’s…" Taekwoon trails off. He wasn’t wrong, rival groups, their own clashes just as bloody, but this time, Taekwoon’s own group hadn’t been involved, and Hakyeon, Taekwoon guilty remembers, had ordered him to stay out of it as well. "You could’ve died," he repeats, lamely.

"You’re sweet," Yixing says, and his expression softens. Taekwoon feels himself flush, and Yixing laughs again. "I always knew you weren’t as scary as you looked."

"You’re saying this now?" Taekwoon asks in disbelief.

Yixing nods, and rubs at the back of his neck, smiling in that helpless way of his. "But I don’t need you to save me, save that for your friends."

"You’re my friend," Taekwoon says. "You’re outnumbered."

"I hoped I was more than that," Yixing says, and suddenly, his hand is on Taekwoon’s shoulder, and he’s on his toes, and he’s kissing Taekwoon like it’s the last time. There’s the strangled scream of someone’s last breath, but Taekwoon wraps his arm around Yixing’s waist, and tries not to think about it.

When Yixing pulls away, the soft look is gone, replaced by fierce focus, and Taekwoon remembers the moment he’d found out the dazed out, giggly man who he’d first fucked in the bathroom of a dirty bar was from the same world as Taekwoon, a rival group, and he’d stared down the barrel of Taekwoon’s gun without flinching—and Taekwoon, reluctantly, nods.

"I have friends to protect too," Yixing says, and with one last touch against Taekwoon’s arm, he disappears back into the street. There’s a streak of blood against Taekwoon’s face, and he brings his hand up to it.

It’s still warm, and he swallows. He wishes he’d been able to speak a little faster—he’d never told Yixing his real name.

 

  

* * *

 

  

**leolay - the hotel messed up now we're sharing a bed**

"Well," Yixing says slowly, staring at the queen sized bed, "it could be worse."

Taekwoon turns to give him a look of silent disbelief. " _How_?"

"It could be smaller, or it could be someone else, or they could've not had _any_ rooms available," Yixing lists off as he crosses the room to claim the right side of the bed. He jumps onto it, and pats the other side, grinning up at Taekwoon.

"But I like having my own room _and_ my own bed," Taekwoon says. "Besides, you kick."

"You steal the blankets," Yixing shoots back. Taekwoon purses his lips and pretends Yixing's wrong.

"It's summer!"

"The AC is on, so it's still cold."

"Then turn it off," Taekwoon grumbles, but there's no helping it and he drags his suitcase up against the wall and throws himself onto the bed. Yixing immediately pets him on the head. Taekwoon lets him for a few seconds, then flips onto his back and tugs Yixing down next to him. Yixing flops onto him instead with a surprised oof.

"Ouch," Yixing says, then props himself up on his elbows, leaning over Taekwoon, lips curled in a pleased grin.

"I should be the one saying that," Taekwoon says.

Yixing hums in disagreement, eyes twinkling. He cards his fingers through Taekwoon's hair, before he bends down and drops a quick kiss against Taekwoon's nose. "Think of all the money we're saving," he says. "One room, _and_ they gave us a discount. You know everything's booked for the conference anyway."

Taekwoon snorts, but cups his hand behind Yixing's neck—this time, Yixing's kiss is far less chaste, and Taekwoon would've been embarrassed at the sounds he makes but Yixing's noises are far too cute for him to really care. And hot. Cute and hot.

"That's...a bonus," Taekwoon breathes, in between Yixing sucking insistently at his lip, and Taekwoon flipping them over so he's looking down at Yixing, the other's eyes still playful, but dark. Yixing laughs, the sound rough—he pulls Taekwoon down, their legs tangling.

"Changed your tune?" Yixing says, words playing against Taekwoon's skin. His lip catches in his teeth as he stares up at Taekwoon, and Taekwoon's already loud heart hitches.

"You still kick," Taekwoon says—but that'll only matter if they get any sleep at all.

(They really should, though. Taekwoon has an eight thirty talk to give in the morning, and Yixing's never been good at waking him up—or rather, he's always been good at waking him up, but never so Taekwoon gets anywhere on time.)


	2. leo turns into a hamster + alien abductions + hongbin

**leo turns into an actual hamster**

"I am going to kill all of you," Taekwoon says—except all he manages is an angry chatter.

"That was so adorable," Hakyeon coos, and Wonsik gives him a look of disbelief.

"You think nearly biting off my finger is _adorable_?" Wonsik says—Taekwoon gives Hakyeon as terrifying a look that a hamster can give, because if Sanghyuk hadn't caught the squirming hamster, Hakyeon would be suffering the same fate.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**leo alien abductions**

" _Did he just try to kiss Jaehwan hyung on camera_!?" Sanghyuk asks, wide eyed.

"And Jaehwan hyung leaned away!?" Hongbin whispers back.

Their eyes meet, and they nod—there's no other explanation, they've both been abducted by aliens.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**leo+hongbin - i guess we're living together now**

 

"What the fuck," Taekwoon says very succinctly.

"Good morning to you too," Hongbin says, grinning, two giant suitcases in tow. "Hakyeon didn't tell you I'm moving in in his place?"

Taekwoon turns and stalked back inside—he was going to _kill_ Hakyeon, hunt him down and strangle him and toss him into a river tied to three massive boulders—but first he needed about ten more cups of coffee, and forgive him if he wasn't going to help Hongbin in...fine. Taekwoon sighs, grabs one of Hongbin's suitcases, and hauls it inside.

"Hakyeon's dead," Taekwoon says flatly, "and if you don't stop laughing, you'll be too."


	3. n/jackson fencing au

It was good to meet as friends, but it was even better to meet on the piste, when it was more than just their blades that crossed, when the true battle was the one between their minds, between two people who’d learned far more about each other than just within the bounds of this game of chess.

It’s true, there’s a bit more pressure on them than usual, than practice—'a bit' might be a tad of an understatement, given that they’re representing their countries here—but neither of them have gotten this far by crumpling under pressure on the piste. Besides "loser buys dinner", Jackson’d mouthed, as they’d made their way to the piste, and just this once, Hakyeon had no intention of paying.

 

 

Jackson doesn’t make it past the preliminaries.

Hakyeon, against all expectation, ends up in the quarters, with a real chance of medalling. (Not quite true—there was never a chance at medalling, but given everything else, luck or not, here he is, and the future was full of unimaginable possibilities.)

"You’re too young to coach," Hakyeon reassures him—their conversations take place in a fluent mix of stilted English, Korean, and body language, honed through years of practice bouts and actual bouts through their Junior careers. Jackson just laughs, although Hakyeon knows he’ll spend every waking (and maybe sleeping) second of at least the next week running through every moment of the bout, every point, every step.

"Worry about yourself!" Jackson says. The night wind is cool, relieving the oppressive summer heat of the day. They sit in half shadows, and Hakyeon really should sleep, but he can’t remember the last time he’s been so shaken by nerves. Jackson had been an accident. But maybe accidents are meant to happen.

"Ah? I’m never worried," Hakyeon laughs, and earns a light jab to the shoulder for his troubles.

"See if I cheer you on," Jackson says, even though they both know he’ll be there, watching him more fiercely than anyone else, barring Hakyeon’s coach.

There’s not much of a moon tonight, and most of the windows have long gone dark. The silence is nearly eerie, and he misses the sound of cicadas outside windows on too hot sweltering nights.

"You’re still coming to Korea this winter, right?" Hakyeon asks. Several beats pass, before Jackson nods. "Good—you can buy me dinner then."

"Only if you win," Jackson shoots back. Mischief glints in his eyes.

"That’s not what we agreed on," Hakyeon protests. "You lost—"

"Ah, but I never said loser of _which_ match," Jackson says, sounding eerily like Hakyeon. He shoves lightly at him, gesturing for him to go. "You better sleep, because I plan on eating a lot."

"You are the worst friend ever," Hakyeon says, but he’s laughing, and a bit more ready for the next day.


	4. neo + n things

**n/leo - coffee shop au where no one drinks any coffee**

"Order something or get out," Taekwoon growls, aggressively wiping down the counter.

Hakyeon laughs from where he’s leaning against the counter, the same place he’s been lingering since he’d wandered in almost an hour ago, occasionally poking at Taekwoon’s cheeks when he gets close enough, which is far too often, because Hakyeon’s learned exactly where to stand. It’s a few minutes after opening, and Taekwoon’s in sore need of a(nother) cup of coffee, but has to settle instead for glaring ineffectually in Hakyeon’s general direction.

"I’ll see you at home," Hakyeon says—he grabs Taekwoon by the shoulders, standing up onto his toes, placing a quick kiss against Taekwoon’s forehead and getting the heck out of there before Taekwoon can kill him. Not quite fast enough—but his stinging wrists are worth it, because Taekwoon’s turned an adorable shade of pink.

"…the _worst_ …" Taekwoon mumbles, but his already quiet words are muffled even further because his hands are over his face.

So. Cute.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**n - woke up with wings**

There’s a blinding flash of light, an unbearable sense of heaviness, a searing arc of pain across his back that sends Hakyeon to his knees—and through the feather black haze of slowly clearing vision, he sees the boy he once used to baby sit, older, but nowhere near old enough, and as Hakyeon tentatively wraps his wings about himself, a protective—but nowhere near secure enough—cocoon, he clambers to his feet.

"I’m dead, aren’t I," Hakyeon says, slowly.

"You catch on quick," Sanghyuk says, and the corners of his lips quirk and his eyes take on a sheen of amusement over the regret buried deep inside, and what else can Hakyeon do, but let out a quiet laugh.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **n/leo - adrift**  
The eternity of sunsets always end in a flash of darkness, too subtle to be noticed, the edge of day and night blurred, yet instantaneous. A park bench, mid summer, fingers a finger's width apart--Taekwoon inches halfway, but Hakyeon remains still. It's natural, the passage of time, a string tugged either loosens or knots, and here they are and it's anyone's guess which way time will err, and it's anyone's guess whether the fast falling darkness will hide a ship setting anchor, or a ship adrift, gliding silently past the familiar, waiting harbour.


	5. sanghyuk - "what's your job?" "i kill demons" "but demons don't exist"

"Uh-huh. Try again kiddo."

Sanghyuk scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. The cop stared at him skeptically, tapping his pen against the paper report. "You don't look much older than me," Sanghyuk said. He'd caught a glance of his ID badge earlier too. It'd looked pretty new.

The cop let out a deep breath and rolled his eyes—not very professional behaviour, Sanghyuk noted. Then again, Sanghyuk was kind of used to this sort of thing. At least he _tried_ to engage. Taekwoon just had a habit of staring whoever'd asked down, while Jaehwan—ok Jaehwan was sort of helpful, most of the time. Not that you could really be less helpful than Taekwoon in explaining this sort of thing. Although Taekwoon had other uses, and Sanghyuk would be _really_ happy if he'd show up some time soon.

"Okay, I'll ask again. What exactly were you doing in...a graveyard, the roof of an elementary school, and a powerplant in one night—and don't say 'your job'."

"But I was," Sanghyuk said. He pouted a little...not that it'd work. He'd never quite figured out the whole "cute" angle. That was really Jaehwan's thing.

"You expect me to believe that your job is to _kill demons_ that don't exist?"

"How do you know they don't?" Sanghyuk asked.

"It's common sense!"

"Right, but can you prove it?"

"Can you prove they do?" the cop—Lee Hongbin, if Sanghyuk remembered correctly—snapped. Touchy, touchy. Also not very professional. Well, it had been something like three hours. Probably. His hyungs were really taking their time. Maybe it was because he'd stolen all of Taekwoon's snacks? He wouldn't put it past him. But Sanghyuk had been stuck in this room for the entire time, at least Mr. Cop had gone out for a break a few times.

Sanghyuk hummed. "Nope. But you can't prove they don't."

"Because they _don’t_."

"Have you ever seen one?" Sanghyuk asked.

"Of course not," the cop said.

"There you go," Sanghyuk said. "Because we kill them before they get to you. And believe me, if they got to you, you'd see them. And then die. Not very pleasantly either."

"Do you really expect me to—" but he was interrupted as the door opened. Irritation flashed over his face. Sanghyuk remembered the detective that poked his head in—pretty nice and good natured, on the surface at least.

"Not now, hyung," he snapped. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Not anymore," he said. He nodded at Sanghyuk. "Looks like your guardian's here to pick you up."

Sanghyuk forced a pleasant smile on his face. _Guardian_? Really? Again? He hopped to his feet anyway.

"Well, nice to meet you Lee Hongbin-ssi. And believe me, demons do exist," Sanghyuk said. He was definitely glad to be out of here, and he lost no time in walking through the door that the detective was still holding open.

"Come on Hakyeon, you can't be serious—"

" _Hyung_ ," the detective corrected—Sanghyuk grinned as he walked away, and towards Taekwoon who was, predictably, glaring at the booking officer.

"There you are," the officer said, when Sanghyuk came out. "Your guardian was very worried."

Sanghyuk barely hid a scoff, but couldn't resist rolling his eyes and making a face at Taekwoon.

"I'm sure he was," he said. "I can leave now, right?"

"Let's go," Taekwoon said, without waiting. Well. Sanghyuk was good with that.

"Was it _really_ because I ate your chips?" Sanghyuk asked as they walked out into the early morning air where Jaehwan was waiting with the car.

"And the crackers," Taekwoon pointed out. "And the chocolate."

"Hey, I left you half of them!" Sanghyuk protested.

"Next time I'm leaving you overnight," Taekwoon said flatly.

Sanghyuk laughed, because no way. They had way too much work to do.


	6. hyuk+leo - you call me monster

At the top of the hill, at the end of a cleared, but rarely used path, in the house covered with vines and surrounded by all too well maintained flower beds, through the door hidden in the foliage unless one knew where to look for it—

"I'm not that scary, am I?" Sanghyuk asks the boy—no, young man, he must be at least twenty now, tall, the baby fat melting away to reveal features mature and angular, but it's hard not to think of him as a boy—in front of him.

"No," he says. His voice is soft, and Sanghyuk laughs.

"Coffee?" Sanghyuk asks. He gestures at the small wooden table with its two chairs, but not surprisingly, the boy doesn't sit. His eyes, however, do light up with curiosity.

"What's that?" he asks.

"Something to drink," Sanghyuk says. For all that the house is big, it's echoingly empty, as its occupants have dissipated through the years, and the kitchen has always been small. Two steps from the table, and he sets the kettle on, and he hums a little because it's been a while. He glances at the boy over his shoulder, shooting him a bright smile. The boy looks away hurriedly—it's cute. He's not, Sanghyuk supposes after a moment, what someone would call cute. Handsome, he supposes. Tall, his eyes black, and the first time Sanghyuk had seen him, they'd been what one could call piercing, even terrifying. If this'd been a few centuries ago, Sanghyuk would certainly have shuddered.

"I don't usually get visitors," Sanghyuk says. The boy's still staring at him, silent. He can feel it, even if he's still pulling out cups, the coffee beans, pouring them into the small hand grinder. It's alright—Sanghyuk's grown used to silence. "You’ve been here before—you really could've just knocked instead of staring at my window."

There's a stammered incomprehensible word—Sanghyuk smothers a chuckle.

"You're either a monster or a ghost," the boy says, after a long moment. It's delivered in that same, quiet, near monotone, but it's tinged with a soft note of curiosity.

Sanghyuk turns and leans against the counter. This time, the boy's eyes meet his, unwavering. Sanghyuk feels the corners of his lips turn up almost involuntarily into a smile.

"Well, I'm certainly not a ghost," Sanghyuk says cheerfully. "I'm Sanghyuk, by the way. I keep thinking of you as a boy but you're probably much older than that. Do you have a name?"

Another moment of silence, no doubt as the boy considers him, considers whether giving his name to a ghost slash unknown monster will condemn him to some depth of hell. But the boy's curiosity, or good sense, clearly overcomes doubt and superstition.

"Taekwoon," he says, eventually. And, more boldly. "If you're not a ghost, what are you?"

"Depends on how you define 'monster'," Sanghyuk says, and grins as the boy—oops, Taekwoon—shifts uneasily. "Don't worry, I won't eat you. Go on, sit down."

Finally, the boy—oops again, Taekwoon—does sit, the chair scraping lightly against the stone floor. It’s a sound familiar to Sanghyuk, but it makes Taekwoon wince a little.

As soon as he’s seated, Sanghyuk grins, showing a little teeth. "You don’t look like you have very much meat on you," he says. He’s a little disappointed when the—Taekwoon, just stares at him with absolutely no reaction. Sanghyuk pouts a little, but the water’s boiled and the coffee is ground.

"You don’t talk very much, do you," Sanghyuk says. He taps the half coffee into the cone, and slowly pours the water over it.

"No," Taekwoon says, and Sanghyuk chuckles.

"That’s alright. It’s better than just hearing my own voice. You really don’t think I’m scary?"

"No," Taekwoon says again, and then nothing.

Sanghyuk sighs. What could he do for a proper conversation around here. But the aroma of coffee soon fills the small kitchen, and it soothes Sanghyuk’s nerves, like it always does.

"Is no your favourite word?" Sanghyuk asks. The water percolates through the coffee grinds, slowly soaking through and dripping into the cup below. The cup, full, gets replaced with the second, and the coffee replaced with the other half, as Sanghyuk repeats it all again.

"No," Taekwoon says—again—and really, Sanghyuk can’t help but laugh.

"Then what is?" Sanghyuk asks. He glances over his shoulder, grinning, and Taekwoon is shifting a little uneasily.

"I don’t have one," he says.

"I don’t either," Sanghyuk says. He turns back to the coffee. "What do they say about me these days in town anyway?"

The rustle of clothes, the slight sound of creaking wood. He doubts Taekwoon himself notices it.

"There’s only one of you?" he asks. For a brief, brief moment, Sanghyuk’s chest twinges.

"There is now," Sanghyuk says. It’s hard to keep his voice light. "But never mind, what else? The interesting stuff!"

He carries both cups of coffee to the table, sliding one across to Taekwoon before sitting down himself. The boy picks it up warily, but it’s clear from the way he’s looking at it that he’s eager. Sanghyuk laughs.

"It’s not poisoned or anything," he says, demonstrating with a sip from his own cup. He waits, lips curled into a smile behind his cup—sure enough, Taekwoon makes a face at the first sip.

And then: "do you have sugar?"

Sanghyuk throws back his head and laughs. So adorable, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it aloud. He gets up, still laughing, grabbing the crock of sugar from the cabinet. He was so cute, Sanghyuk wanted to keep him. But it didn’t work that way.

 _"Sorry, Hyukkie, I…"_ Sanghyuk shakes his head, clearing the thought.

"Sugar," Sanghyuk says, turning, cheerful grin back on his face. He brings a spoon too, handing both to Taekwoon. He watches in amusement as he sits back down as Taekwoon heaps three spoonfuls into the tiny cup. This time, when he takes a sip, there’s a smile of contentment. He was even cuter when he smiled. He _really_ wanted to keep him.

"So what do you do?" Sanghyuk asks. Taekwoon doesn’t put the coffee down, just stares at him. Sanghyuk sighs. "You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I’m curious—oh, right, I still want to ask what they’re saying about me now!"

He’s gathering his thoughts, Sanghyuk realises after a beat. So he waits.

"You eat bad children," he finally says. "You curse people, you cause droughts, you steal souls, you live forever."

Each of these is delivered slowly, one at a time, long pauses in between.

"And?" Sanghyuk says, when it seems like Taekwoon’s done.

Taekwoon meets his eyes again. They’re steady eyes, Sanghyuk notices. "You killed my family."

That, Sanghyuk wasn’t expecting. His chest seizes, and he immediately shakes his head. "No," he says. "No, I didn’t. We’d never. I’m sorry, Taekwoon, but if you came looking for answers, this isn’t the right place."

Taekwoon’s eyes flash, his jaw sets. "How do I know?" he asks.

Sanghyuk supposes he has a point.

He stands, again, chair scraping back noisily. "You can’t," he mutters to himself. "That’s the problem, isn’t it? That’s why everyone leaves. There’s always something, someone, every once in a while, it always comes back to this."

He’s pacing, a little, runs his hand through his hair.

"Always comes back to this?" Taekwoon asks, and for someone who’d just said that Sanghyuk had killed his family, his voice is still surprisingly soft. Almost dangerously soft.

Sanghyuk hadn’t thought Taekwoon had heard any of that. Another sigh, as he leans against the counter, palms pressed into the edge.

"Humans are always the same," he says, after a moment. "The people change, but humans never change."

"So you aren’t human."

Sanghyuk chuckles drily. "Did I ever say I was?" But then he shakes his head. Because that’s not quite true, either. It depended on how one defined 'human'.

Taekwoon says nothing, and Sanghyuk doesn’t know what to say.

"It’s late," he finally says. It’s true, the sun has started to set. "Would you like dinner?"

A beat, another, and Sanghyuk doesn’t know why he asks. The boy thinks he killed his family. He shakes his head, again, closes his eyes. The house seems oppressively hollow, now, an accusation, a reprimand, a testament to years and years and lives lived and lives forgotten. Again, again, again. The sun has started to set, but it’s only the faintest tinge of red orange that colours a fraction of the sky. It’s evident through the window, and Sanghyuk knows that in a few minutes, it will flood the kitchen as well.

"Yes." The answer comes unexpectedly. Sanghyuk whirls, eyes wide.

"Really?" he asks.

"As long as I’m not dinner," Taekwoon says.

Sanghyuk laughs, and shakes his head. "Of course not," he says. He grins again, a little wickedly. "You’re too big to be a bad child."

There’s a little snort of laughter, before Taekwoon’s face melts back into the same stoic expression.

It’s been years now, since Hongbin left. Years since there’s been another human in this house, years since Sanghyuk’s eaten with another human. A pulse of excitement beats within him.

"I don’t think you did," Taekwoon says.

The sun, by now, has almost set. Taekwoon is looking down at his empty plate. He hasn’t said a word, since he’d agreed to dinner.

It takes Sanghyuk a moment to understand. "Alright," he says. And then: "would you like more coffee?"

Taekwoon nods immediately, and Sanghyuk doesn’t bother hiding his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do want to expand on this one if i have time


	7. nbin - i killed someone and now i'm on the run

Hakyeon groggily opens the door—the pounding abruptly stops, and a drenched Hongbin tumbles in.

…Hongbin?

Hakyeon rubs his eyes, not sure if he can trust them, but sure enough, it’s Hongbin, slamming the door—Hakyeon’s door—shut behind him.

"Please, hyung," Hongbin says, and suddenly, Hakyeon realises that the dark patch on Hongbin’s shirt isn’t just from the rain. He hasn’t seen Hongbin in literal years, and his hair’s a little longer and it’s back to its natural black, but more importantly, his hand is pressed against his shoulder, he’s out of breath, and he’s nearly doubled over on Hakyeon’s door mat.

"Get inside," Hakyeon says. Questions, so many questions, but he half supports half drags Hongbin to the bathroom, bundling him into a towel.

"Sorry," Hongbin says, and it’s as if any life remaining in him is slowly draining away, slumping further against the wall. At least, Hakyeon notes, he’s not bleeding very much anymore. "I didn’t know where to go."

"Let’s get you dry first," Hakyeon mumbles to himself. "Come on, help me get your clothes off."

"Pervert," Hongbin chokes out with a laugh. Hakyeon mimes cuffing him on the head, but Hongbin obligingly releases his death grip on his shoulder, and lets Hakyeon unbutton his shirt and peel it off—and thank goodness it’d been a button down, Hakyeon thinks.

Hakyeon’s never seen a bullet wound, but he doesn’t need to, to know what it is. He swallows, then quickly continues patting Hongbin dry with the towel. The bleeding is sluggish, as he’d thought, and he realises with a panic that his tiny paper-cut sized bandaids aren’t going to do very much.

His jeans are a bit harder, but Hongbin doesn’t even make a comment about Hakyeon getting his pants off, just struggles out of them until he’s sitting on the floor of Hakyeon’s bathroom in his underwear and a bullet wound in his shoulder and Hakyeon doesn’t know what the fuck is going on but damned if he was going to leave Hongbin bleeding outside his doorstep in the middle of the night.

"I need to take you to the hospital," Hakyeon says, but Hongbin’s grip is suddenly iron tight about Hakyeon’s arm, and his eyes are wild as he shakes his head.

"No! Don’t—or the cops, don’t—"

"Hongbin ah…what did you do?"

Hongbin’s hold on his arm slackens, as he falls back against the wall, a bitter laugh. "I killed someone," he chokes out. He turns his head, and gives Hakyeon a wry smile. "That’s why."

Hakyeon’s mind goes blank.

"You…"

"Don’t you trust me, hyung?" Hongbin says. "It’s…complicated."

"I can see that," Hakyeon says.

"I didn’t know where else to go," Hongbin says again, and Hakyeon is quickly getting the impression that he’s not quite lucid, not anymore.

"What if I’d moved?" Hakyeon says. What did he _mean_ , he’d killed someone? He grabs another dry towel, leaving the big one wrapped about Hongbin, and works it through Hongbin’s hair.

"You didn’t, I know you didn’t," Hongbin says. He leans forward, his head dropping against Hakyeon’s shoulder, and for a brief moment, this is years ago and they’re on the floor of Hakyeon’s bathroom but the circumstances had been so, so, so different. For one, there hadn’t been a slowly darkening patch of red staining one of Hakyeon’s towels, but that matters a lot less than Hakyeon’s realization of how much weight Hongbin’s lost, how hollow his cheeks are when he raises his head again.

"It’s complicated, huh," Hakyeon says. His hand brushes against Hongbin’s jaw, and yeah, he can believe it’s complicated. But this is Hongbin, Hongbin who’d taken a million pictures and printed them all out and that Hakyeon had still kept. Hongbin who’d been painfully quiet, the first time Hakyeon had met him, his eyes drenched in insecurity. Hongbin who’d joked every day about never wanting to stay in the same room as Hakyeon, but who’d shared his room and his bed every night—Hongbin who’d finally said, serious, that maybe they shouldn’t stay in the same room, anymore. Hongbin who’d drifted away, quietly—Hongbin who’d just crashed through his door, a bullet wound in his shoulder, his hair still damp, as he leans against Hakyeon.

"Hyung trusts you," Hakyeon says. He pats Hongbin on the arm. "I’m sure we’ll get this sorted out very soon."

"You always did believe in the best," Hongbin murmurs, and it’s not quite as hopeful as Hakyeon might’ve hoped.

"Of course," Hakyeon says anyway. He urges Hongbin to his feet, towel still wrapped tightly about him.

"But what if—"

"Shhh," Hakyeon quickly cuts him off. He squeezes his eyes shut, turned away, so Hongbin can’t see. "We’ll sort this out, Hongbinnie. Don’t you trust me?"

It’s mid-afternoon, the sun bright and unforgiving, before Hongbin finally says: "you’re not going to ask what happened?"

Hakyeon freezes. His slack hands nearly drop the dish they’d been holding. He takes a deep breath—his chest’s been bubbling with panic since he’d opened the door last night, and it’s a panic that’s only been steadily building, nearing hysteria, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep it in.

"I," he says, then has to stop, swallow. Gently puts the dish into the sink, ignoring the slight clatter as his fingers slip. Turns, and Hongbin is sitting at his kitchen table, a long sleeved shirt hiding the bandages, hair brushed back from his face. "I was waiting for you to be ready."

Hongbin snorts. "Bullshit," he says. "You’re scared."

"Should I be?" Hakyeon snaps. His fingers clench into a fist, one that he forcibly relaxes. Hongbin’s staring at him, and his eyes are sharp, and Hakyeon gets the distinct impression that yes, yes he should be.

 _You show back up into my life, you tell me you’ve fucking killed someone, of course I’m scared to know what’s happening!_ —Hakyeon does not scream, but he wants to. He really wants to.

"Fine. Tell me," Hakyeon says. He crosses the room, dropping into the chair across from Hongbin. The Hongbin from last night, desperate, afraid, seems to have disappeared. In his place is a Hongbin closer to the one Hakyeon remembers, albeit sharper about the edges, and a certain roughness in his eyes that hasn’t always been there. He looks older, so much older, and he is, and he carries that about him like a barbed shield. But at Hakyeon’s words, Hongbin seems to visibly deflate, and his eyes skim away from Hakyeon’s.

"I think they got Taekwoon," he says softly.

"They— _what_?" His palms sting from where they slam the table, the chair nearly tipping back when Hakyeon shoots to his feet. Hongbin recoils, but then his lips twist into a snarl.

" _That’s_ what gets your attention? Maybe I should’ve led with that in the first place."

"Stop screwing around and get to the point," Hakyeon says. He takes a deep breath, crosses his arms over his chest and sits back down. "I said we’ll sort this out, and we will."

"We, huh." Hongbin eyes him critically, and he lets out a small breath of laughter. "I always hated that about you—assuming everyone needed your help."

Hakyeon’s jaw clenches, and he fights back the twist of anger that he can feel showing on his face. "You didn’t seem to mind last night," he says evenly.

Hongbin looks away. "That was different."

"Sure, because showing up on my doorstep and telling me you’re on the run for murder is 'different'."

"Thanks for that," Hongbin says, his voice low. "But you don’t need to get involved."

"I think I already am."

"That…was different," Hongbin says again. "I’ll leave tonight."

"At least tell me what happened," Hakyeon says.

"I don't think you want to know."

"Then why did you even ask?" Hakyeon says sharply.

Hongbin laughs drily and shakes his head. "I don’t know, maybe I just thought it was strange—wouldn’t most people at least ask?"

"Cut the crap and tell me," Hakyeon says. "I said I trusted you, didn’t I? I’m not going to turn you in."

"Maybe you should," Hongbin says with a laugh. "You don’t even know what we did."

"What _did_ you do?"

Hongbin takes a deep, shaky breath, and his eyes fall to the floor. His fists clench where they rest on the table, and his teeth briefly clamp down on his lower lip. "We…they think…we killed Wonsik."

"You—!" but the shock takes over, and Hakyeon can only stare at Hongbin blankly. All these names, all these people—Hakyeon hasn’t seen them in forever, in years, and the past is suddenly slamming back into his life like a train careening off the tracks. A past he's left, a past he's forgotten, a past that'd returned as soon as he'd opened that door.

"I told you, you wouldn’t want to know," Hongbin says. He’s still not looking at Hakyeon, and Hakyeon’s not sure if he could meet his eyes, right now, anyway.

"You…"

"Still trust me, hyung?" Hongbin says.

"And…Taekwoon?" Hakyeon says slowly.

"Taekwoon, Taekwoon—of course it’s Taekwoon," Hongbin bites out. "I always was your second choice."

"Are we really talking about this now? When you’ve just told me ’they got Taekwoon’ and that _Wonsik is dead_!? Any other recent events I’ve missed?"

Fuck—Wonsik. His nails dig into his palms, but the pain is barely enough to ground him.

"You’re the one who left our lives, hyung," Hongbin says softly. His hands have dropped to rest on his legs, and his head is still bowed.

 _You left mine_ , Hakyeon doesn’t say. Instead: "What happened?" and he’s surprised himself at how steady his voice is. Considering what Hongbin’s just told him.

"It’s…complicated," Hongbin says. "But it’s not—trust me, trust—if you don’t trust me, trust Taekwoon, you know he wouldn’t—"

"Will you shut up about Taekwoon and get to the point!?"

"You’re the one who asked about him!"

"Just get to the point," Hakyeon growls. "About…about Wonsik."

His voice cracks, and he swallows.

"It…" Hongbin shakes his head. "We…still pulled the trigger. In the end—we fucked up, hyung, we..."

Hakyeon waits, and the sound of water dripping echoes through Hakyeon’s apartment. A small, slow, rhythm—a reminder of half done dishes, slowly going dry.

"I don’t know how they found out, just…they set us up, we thought Sanghyuk—a fake leak—and we…Jaehwan and Wonsik, it’s been years, and we didn’t know—fuck, I didn’t even know he was dead, it happened so fast, then Taekwoon was screaming at me to run, and…"

"That’s…that’s when…?"

Hongbin shakes his head. "It’s been getting worse, everyone’s been on edge, using us to take each other out, but we didn’t know, and Taekwoon must’ve realised—but we lead them right back—Sanghyuk’s fine, he’s always been…hyung, when did we turn into the bad guys?"

Hakyeon laughs drily, slowly piecing it all together. "Everyone thinks they’re the good guys," he says. And then: "I should’ve stayed."

"No—this is what I mean, you don’t need to get involved," Hongbin says. His voice is rough, and his eyes are red. "But no one thought people were going to _die_."

"It was never a game," Hakyeon says. But Hongbin’s right. No one had ever thought. It hadn’t been a game, but it had never been lives on the line. He never would’ve thought—last night, when Hongbin had shown up, he’d never thought—

"You think we didn’t know that!? But things had to change—"

"And look where that’s gotten you," Hakyeon says. He wants to stand, but his body is too heavy. "They finally have a reason to arrest you, and Taekwoon…and Wonsik’s…" he can’t bring himself to finish either of those sentences.

Hongbin chokes out a laugh, and drops his head into his hands. "And we’ve accomplished _nothing_ —what was the point of trying?"

Hakyeon does stand. Shakily, palms pressed against the edge of the table. "Was it a literal trigger?" he asks.

Hongbin nods.

"Who was it?"

"Does it matter?" Hongbin says, after too long of a second.

Hakyeon swallows.

"No," he says. "No it doesn’t."

"Still think we can sort this out?" Hongbin says.

"Yes," Hakyeon says immediately. He has no fucking clue how—and he certainly can’t bring back the dead—but that’s no excuse for not at least trying. Not…not the part about bringing back the dead.

" _How_?" Hongbin doesn’t believe him, and Hakyeon doesn’t blame him.

"You don’t trust me?" Hakyeon asks, and for a moment, he tries to pretend the skeptical look Hongbin shoots him is from another time, another place.

"To be quite honest," Hongbin says, "no."

"Brat," Hakyeon says. He leans across the table to cuff Hongbin on the head—but stops, and pats him softly instead. His legs feel like jelly and his heart feels like lead. Hongbin bows his head, and doesn’t even try to push Hakyeon away. So Hakyeon ruffles his hair, and pats him again, before he straightens.

Despite everything, a thread of anticipation begins to rise inside him—one that he’s muzzled ever since he went analog. But he still has to finish the dishes. Hongbin is still sitting at his kitchen table.

(He tries hard not to think about the other 'still'.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i...have more but i'm not happy with it/not finished so ;;;;


End file.
